


blocks | the story of the DreamSMP

by kanins



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: All Platonic - Freeform, Dream Smp, Gen, Light Angst, a dramatic reenactment of the dsmp, blood and violence but nothing graphic, not beta read we post and do not look back, swearing and a lot of it, told in first person BUT I SWEAR I WILL DO MY BEST HEAR ME OUT
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27206123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanins/pseuds/kanins
Summary: This is the story of how my best friend dies.Sort of. Kind of. I’m not even really sure he’s dead right now—god, I hope not. But the important thing to know is that, one minute, I’m getting myself some shiny music discs, and the next minute, I’m stood at a tower watching my best friend walk right into his execution.[ Or, alternatively, a snarky dramaticazation of the DreamSMP that starts all the way at the very beginning. ]
Comments: 7
Kudos: 71





	blocks | the story of the DreamSMP

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO !! this is a not-so-dramatic narration of the events of the dreamsmp done for absolute fun! i don't know if i'lll ever finish it, but whatever gets posted gets posted. this is all done as a way for me to destress. enjoy!
> 
> follow me on twitter @unlikanins !!

I was in court for murder. 

Which is fair, actually, because murder’s kinda a really, _really_ bad thing. Like, if it had been anyone else, I would have said, “Pull yourself together, big man! Murder isn’t cool.” But when you’re the one sitting in a courthouse’s holding cell on trial for a murder that was sorta-kinda justified, you start thinking about a lot of things. For example, getting out without being shot by the crossbow that your new leader was pointing right at your face.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. The story actually starts a little bit further back, when I decided to leave home and migrate to a place far, far away. It was so far that my mother often sent me letters that did not only contain scolding but also pleas to just move back. I knew my heart was set, though. I had gotten an invite from the ruler of the land himself to come and live in the “Dream SMP,” which, now that I think about it, is quite the peculiar name for a country that’s highly esteemed. If it were up to me, I’d name it something grand. Something majestic. Something really fuckin’ cool like _Pogtopia_ , which has a much better ring to it than “Dream SMP.” (Who even names their land “Dream SMP?” Sounds like a disease or some shit.) But who was I to question the leader himself? This was a once-in-a-lifetime moment to live in _the_ Dream SMP, so I packed my bags and headed there without looking back.

Now, when I got there, I wasn’t really feeling like a million dollars. Travelling takes its toll on you, and by the time I’d arrived, _boy_ was I fatigued. And you have to remember this, because this fact’s gonna be important later when I have to explain more shit. It gets complicated, so keep it in mind. That evening, I was tired, but I made up my mind to do my best and greet the people with a skip in my step.

For a land that was rumored to be such a big deal, you’d think that there were castles, empires, hell, even wild beasts and strange creatures. But after navigating through the forest (the train just drops you in the middle of the fuckin’ forest!), there was no welcoming committee to greet me, just a shabby house perched right smack in the center of a tiny lake.

My standards were low, but god, this house didn’t even come close to the bar.

Different types of wood were nailed together to create some sort of bridge leading up to the main shack, which was a conglomeration of stone and brick smacked together to create a structure. There were no fancy elements, no fancy shapes. It was, quite literally, a box on a lake. 

It certainly wasn’t the home I was used to, but I decided to hold my tongue back, lest I accidentally insult my new acquaintances. For all I knew, it could have just been a supply shed or something. Whatever it was, I dragged my weary legs across the bridge and knocked on the front door. 

“Dream, go get it!” a voice called from inside, followed by some shuffling. The walls, despite being stone and brick, didn’t do much in the soundproofing department.

“You get the door, you’re closer,” came another.

“I’m not moving. Go get it, _you’re_ the one expecting someone.”

“God, you’re so lazy.”

A few moments later, the door swung open and the big man himself lit up with a smile. (Actually, I’m not sure if he was smiling. Couldn’t see his face under his mask, but his mask was painted with a smile, so I’m just going to assume the best. Besides, who wouldn’t smile after being graced with my presence?)

“Tommy! You made it. How was your trip?” Dream, the supposed ruler of the Dream SMP, greeted, grabbing one of the bags from my hands. “Here, let me help you. You can put your stuff beside the chests. Welcome! You know George, right?”

“Hello, Tommy.” The aforementioned-George guy didn’t bother to look up, but I couldn’t blame him. He was fiddling with his sword, which I suppose seemed more interesting than a guest. 

“Ello, fellas. Thanks for having me. This your supply shed?” I threw my satchel next to the stack of chests, just like Dream had instructed. 

“Nope, it’s our house. Pretty great, isn’t it?”

I raised a brow. The house wasn’t a box of chocolates kinda thing where you can get a shitty box but still get some scrumptious chocolate when you open it up. No sir. Mother always told me not to judge a book by its cover, but if this house was a book, the shit cover definitely gave you an idea of what was inside.

Sorry. 

“Big man, can I call you that, Dream? Yeah, I mean this in the nicest way possible, but whoever built this house should have gotten fired,” I chuckled to lessen the blow of my words, but I was being dead serious. There were no rooms, no divisions. Everything was just mish-mashed together, as if some guys’ college dorm turned into a house. 

“Well, I’m not an architect, Tommy. I hunt people in my spare time, did you think I’d have time to get a Master’s degree in architecture?” he answered, hanging his green hoodie on one of the racks. _Oh shit,_ he _built the house._

I shrugged. “You’re rich. You could have hired.”

“I could have.”

We had ourselves a little chat while eating dinner, which was eaten on the floor because they had no table. (No table!) By the time we had finished up, my eyes were threatening to close on me, yet I stayed alert. Mother told me to make a good first impression and act as if I was meeting the Queen of England. 

The Queen was my absolute most favorite woman, so comparing a strange masked man to her was a little bit much. I, however, didn’t want to disappoint my mum and make a fool out of myself on the first day. Of course, if I was meeting the Queen, I wouldn’t insult the palace in the first few minutes of meeting her, so this whole “good first impression” thing was already proving to be a bit of a challenge. Lucky for me, Dream and George seemed to like me despite the fact that I had humiliated their building skills as soon as I stepped foot inside their place.

After dinner, I washed up and prepared myself for bed. At this point, my body was begging for me to go to sleep, so I brushed my teeth and headed straight to the sleeping quarters.

And by sleeping quarters, I mean the three pink beds all pushed together in the corner of the house. 

George threw me a pillow. “You can take Sapnap’s bed, I guess. He’s out collecting resources, and he’ll be back tomorrow. We didn’t have time to prepare another one.”

Dream had invited me two weeks ago, and they couldn’t even prepare another bed? Not even a separate cot!

“That’s fine.” It was not fine, obviously, but I wasn’t in the right to complain. I was just happy to have a place to sleep, though it could have been much, much nicer. “Well, I’m gonna head to bed, mates. Been quite a day, y’know.”

“Wait,” George tapped my shoulder, “could you just—“

“Can’t this wait until morning, man? I swear, I’m about to pass out any second.”

He pointed to the workstation. “This’ll only take a moment. Can you stand on the crafting table?”

“ _GEORGE_!” Dream yelled, though he didn’t seem mad. In fact, his voice was laced with a snicker. 

Well, if it meant them shutting up and me getting my long-awaited rest, then I was more than enthused to oblige. I threw the pink sheets off of me and did as I was told. “Can I please just go to bed now? I don’t know what you two are on about, but if I don’t get my shut-eye right now, I’m gonna start stabbin’ shit.” 

Dream rolled his eyes. “George, you are _such_ an idiot.”

“Sapnap’s gonna have a laugh when I tell him all about this tomorrow.” The guy answered back.

“Alright, what’s going on? What’s with you lot and crafting tables? I don’t get it.” I furrowed my brows, stepping down from the workbench.

George (oh, that goggle-wearing shithead) waved it off. “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I said, “tell me the joke.”

“If you’re so insistent,” Dream answered, taking out his phone, “here. Watch this video.”

I gave them a side-eye. “Alright.”

Imagine the most horrible video you’ve ever seen, and amplify that by ten. What Dream showed me was so disturbing, I can’t even tell you what it contained. You bastards better be grateful that I’ve chosen to spare you the details, because oh my _god_ , that video was the worst.

Listen, I may not be a child (don’t ever call me a child), but I was fresh outta the big fifteen. I’d just turned sixteen two months ago, and I swear on my dog Betty’s favorite chew toy, I had never seen such an atrocity in my whole entire life. 

So remember how I told you that I was extremely fatigued? This is where it comes into play. In my disgust and sleep-deprivation, I decided that there was only one thing to do.

I hopped over to the chests, grabbed an iron axe, and when George was turned around, I socked that bitch out cold with the handle.

“What the fuck was that, Dream? You’re sick!” I exhaled, eyes wide open. “You and George are both _sick_!”

Dream quickly sheathed his sword. “Tommy! You just _killed_ George! That video was nothing!"

“He’s not dead. He’ll wake up. That was well-deserved,” I answered, stepping away from the masked man. "What do you mean that video was nothing? He—"

“Pushed the other off the crafting table! This is practically murder. Assault! Oh my god.” He rushed to George’s limp body and checked for breathing. The goggle bastard was alive of course, because if there’s anything that I’m not, it’s a murderer. I simply knocked him out temporarily—why couldn’t the guy understand this?

“Again, big man, he’s not _dead_ ,” I told him. 

“Alright, that’s it,” Dream spat, grabbing the crossbow from atop the furnace. “Put your hands up in the air. You are under arrest.”

I sighed. “Can I please just be arrested tomorrow? I’m awfully tired. You get it, don’t you? It’s late. The phantoms are gonna start coming after us.”

“Fine. But you’re gonna have a trial at the courthouse for the murder of George first thing tomorrow, you hear?” He said, plopping George’s limp body on the leftmost bed. 

I slid under the pink sheets once more, happy to finally be able to rest. (Why they chose pink for their sheets will always remain a mystery to me.) “Whatever you say, Dream. G’night.”

—

_“Get out of my bed.”_

See, I was having myself the loveliest sleep. You know when you’re mad tired, yeah? Then you pass out as soon as you hit the pillow? Those types of sleeps are _the_ best in my opinion, and it was such a shame that it had to be cut short just because some headband-wearing dick decided to shove me out of my slumber. _Literally_. I woke up sprawled on the floor, staring up at a man covered in ash and scratches.

“And who the fuck might you be?” I blinked, getting up on my feet.

The guy turned his back on me to put his stuff next to the workstation. “The owner of the bed you’re sleeping in. Sapnap. Who told you that you could sleep there?”

“George did. Or Dream. I can’t even remember. Hey, what’s your stance on murder?”

Now, at that moment, I had already decided that I didn’t like Sapnap very much. There was just this thing about the guy that just sent the chills down my spine. And not the kind of chills that you get when you’re intimidated by someone (because if anything, he should have been intimidated by _me_ ), but the kind of chills you get when you see vomit on the top of the hood of your car after you’d gone grocery shopping. Sapnap seemed like an odd fellow, and though we do celebrate differences here, this guy was just absolutely horrid.

I couldn’t stand him.

“My stance on murder?” He raised a brow. “Why? Did’ya kill anyone lately?”

I shook my head. “No, no. Let’s just say a guy did something horrible to you, and you decided to punch him in the face. What’cha think of that?”

Sapnap shrugged. “Dunno, it depends. Doesn’t sound like murder to me.”

“Oh good, you’re finally awake. We just prepared breakfast,” Dream greeted as he flung open the door. For a minute, I thought he had forgotten all about last night’s shenanigans, but then he grabbed his crossbow from behind him and aimed it right between my eyes. “And you’re still under arrest. Follow me, and keep your hands up.”

I could just never catch a break around these parts. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Dream, who’s this?” Sapnap held his hand in front of me. “You’re arresting him?”

“That’s Tommy, the new kid. He—”

“Dream, with all due respect, I’m not a kid.”

“Right, the new child—”

“Don’t you dare call me a fuckin’ _child_ , you green bastard!”

Dream shrugged. “He killed George last night. I’m taking him to the courthouse. Move away, Sapnap.”

“Killed?” Sapnap turned to me with an eyebrow raised. 

“I did not _kill_ him! Listen, George made me get up on the crafting table, so I gave him a good wallop on the head! You know, a little bonk for my troubles!” I protested. “He deserved it! I am not going to be arrested.”

“You are now.” A voice came from behind, and, well, just my luck. George was stood behind me with an axe in hand—the same one I used to clobber him the night prior. “Follow us if you don’t want to get sent back home.”

Oh god. “Do _not_ tell my mother.”

Dream heaved a big sigh. “Relax, just come with us to the courthouse. God, you’re so stubborn, Tommy. It’s been like, five minutes already and we haven’t even gotten out of the house yet. Let’s _go_ , I’m hungry.”

I didn’t have a choice except to follow the boys into their precious courthouse. You see, if my mother found out that I was banished from my new home because I had hit someone, that would not bode well for me. So I walked with them, keeping my lips shut. 

When we arrived, I finally understood why they kept nagging me to come along with them, because out of all the things that I’d seen so far upon arriving, the courthouse was certainly the most dignified building on the DreamSMP. Plainly put, the godforsaken house-shack-whatever looked like shit compared to the courthouse. In fact, if it were up to me, I would have just slept in the courthouse if it meant no crafting table mishaps, no ash-smelling pink beds, and no goggle-wearing scumbags. 

They led me to the corner of the courthouse, where a room awaited me. It was small, but it had a bed with fresh sheets and a lamp that was well-lit, so I walked in without noticing that it wasn’t actually a room but a holding cell. It was only when the iron gates shut behind me that I realized, “ _Ah. I’m trapped.”_

Their holding cells were better and cleaner than their own living quarters. If that didn’t tell you what kind of state their land was in, I don’t know what will.

“Right, so we’re going to get to the interrogation in a bit. I just have to fix some papers with George—” Dream’s stomach then rumbled, and though I couldn’t see his expression from behind his mask, the way his body froze for a split second was enough to indicate that he was flustered. “ _Ahem_ . Yeah. Stay here, and do _not_ touch anything. Or you’ll get it.”

He held up his crossbow and tapped it for effect. Jeez, the dramatics! 

“Can’t I at least have breakfast?” I groaned.

“No.”

And with that, the two were off to settle the “interrogation papers,” leaving me all alone with nothing but the lamp, the bed, and the bars.

I really hate it when I’m called a child, but even I have to admit that it comes with a few benefits. When you're thought of as a child, people don’t naturally assume that you have something greater up your sleeve other than “being annoying” (which I’m _not_ ), and so when you’re repeatedly told that you’re going to get arrested, nobody thinks that you’re going to do anything much to get out of it.

But you see, I'm _not_ a child. Last night, when Dream and George were deep into their sleep (and I mean _really_ deep. Even my friend Techno, who’s literally a pig, doesn’t snore as loud as they do), I snuck out of bed to steal some supplies from their chests. I’m a bit of a tall fellow, so hiding stuff underneath my clothes wasn’t too difficult. They didn’t even bother to check me this morning for any stolen items, so as soon as the two were out of sight from the courthouse, I lifted up my pant leg, grabbed the stick I stole, and started poking it between the iron bars in attempts to flip open the lever of my cell. Sure, the courthouse in itself was great, but its security system wasn’t. With a few prods of my stick, the cell door opened and I was free. 

I grabbed the lamp, the pillow, and the blanket and booked it out of there.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t all that easy. As soon as I stepped outside, I found that there was a creeper standing between me and my freedom. Creepers are these ugly, green assholes that are really dangerous if you get too close, but I, panicked and pressed for time, decided to just outrun it. 

I could not outrun it.

In a flash, the creeper exploded, sending me flying to the other side of the universe. _Shit_ , I thought. _Shit, shit, shit_. There was no way that Dream and his friends would miss that loud of a noise, which means my cover was (literally) blown and the little time that I had bought with the element of surprise was completely gone. Hastily, I grabbed the dirtied sheet and pillow from the floor where I’d dropped it. 

A flicker caught my eye.

In the rubble next to my stuff, there was something on the ground. Quickly, I pulled it out of the dirt and dusted it off, trying to decipher what on earth it was. It was black, round, and labeled with “ _Cat_.”

A music disc. 

Without thinking, I took off with it, not looking back at the courthouse that had just been blown up.


End file.
